


Patriots

by HiMiTSu



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Politics, Prime Minister, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiMiTSu/pseuds/HiMiTSu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Upon becoming a Prime Minister Gregory Lestrade expected not to be told what to do anymore. He couldn't have been more wrong. Mycroft/Lestrade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is only the beginning...

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU. Mycroft is still the Mycroft Holmes we know, Greg, on the other hand, still being the man we are all familiar with, occupies a much more interesting position.
> 
> I have only some knowledge how British government works, all of it came from a couple of episodes of Doctor Who and a tv show Secret State, which actually is an inspiration behind this story. I hope I didn't mess it up too badly.
> 
> Also in this universe Mycroft's plan with the plane was successful.
> 
> I have to thank Riverdancer17(on ff.net) for Brit-picking.

**_This is only the beginning..._ **

It had been a difficult fight. Hard work, long hours of planning. Only getting home in the early hours of the morning, or not going to his flat at all, instead staying in the office, one day of work slowly merging into another. It had been worth it though; everything, missed family holidays and practically nonexistent personal life, had been worth this one moment.

The doors of his new office had closed behind him as he stepped over the threshold, leaving all the noise and people outside, giving him a moment of peace in what was going to be one hell of a life. Everything had changed, but not really. The same lonely sleepless nights awaited him but now he would have a satisfaction of knowing that he had made it – he had reached the top. He would be forever content in that feeling.

He breathed in slowly, the air filling his lungs, and let in out a sigh that turned his lips into a smile. This was it. The moment he had waited for his whole life, this was what he was always striving for. He got it. He made it.

With a smile he crossed the office and sat down behind a large desk.

Gregory Lestrade. Prime Minister of Great Britain.

It was only a couple of days later that his careful mental balance was broken.

It was late, sometime after eleven p.m., and Greg had already been considering going home. The day had been an easy one, nothing major warranting his immediate attention, but he still worked late, somewhat happy to stay in the office. It gave him confidence and even happiness, this constant reminder that he was worth it, that he had been elected to this position.

There was a soft knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer a person on the other side carefully slid it open and soundlessly stepped inside. Greg tensed. There were no visitors scheduled but the security had let this man pass without any question. Well, that only meant that the questions were left for him to ask.

"Who are you?" Greg did not raise his voice.

The man glanced at him but did not reply, instead silently crossing the room and settling into one of the chairs across from Greg's desk.

Greg Lestrade was not a coward, but as an ex-army man, he could sense danger. This man, sitting gracefully in front of him and regarding him calmly with only a hint of a smile glinting in grey eyes, exuded an air of confidence and power, someone to be afraid of, but not because of their physical power, because of the influence they held in their hands. Unconsciously the Prime Minister glanced at the stranger's hands, clasped on top of his crossed knees.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you." The man said; and now Greg was sure that he caught a fleeting upturn of his lips before his face was schooled into a mask of indifference.

"Not at all," Greg replied, leaning back in his own chair. The man seemed dangerous, but the Prime Minister didn't feel threatened. The prevailing feeling was curiosity. "But I'll be grateful if you answered my previous question."

This time the man allowed Greg to see his smile. "I believe we have already met." He answered. "But I guess you don't remember me. What a shame." A fake sigh and a glance away made a pretty but unconvincing picture.

Instead of asking any more questions Greg looked at the man's face more carefully. A very aristocratic appearance, pale skin, high cheekbones, blue-grey eyes. Handsome in his own way. Pale, thin lips – nothing to look at if not for that half smile and a teasing glint in his eyes accompanying it. Laughing at Greg; mocking the Prime Minister.

But the man was right; his face did seem familiar. "I believe we've met at all those fundraisers and official openings and whatnot. But I don't think we've ever been introduced to each other." Greg remembered noticing a tall man, attractive in an incongruous way, catching his eye once or twice. Though they've never been close enough to start a conversation or even exchange greetings.

The stranger nodded, pleased. "Mycroft Holmes, at your service."

"Gregory Lestrade, Prime Minister." Greg replied in kind.

The man laughed, sound soft falling from his lips. "Believe me I know who you are. Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

"So you have some business with me, Mr. Holmes?"

"Mycroft, please. We will be working for a long time together, after all." He was teasing, playing, giving obscure answers so that Greg would have to press with more questions.

It could have been an interesting game, had the stakes not been quite so high. At 10 Downing Street you do not play with strangers.

"I'm not sure I like this conversation."

"We are on the same side, Prime Minister." The man placated him. "We share the same interest – the well-being of the British nation." Despite the excessive pathos of his words, it sounded sincere. "I'm sorry to say this, I truly am," he did not look sorry in the least. "But there is a lot you do not know about our beloved country."

"Really?"

"Truly," Mycroft nodded. "But now that you have reached this position…" He trailed away, not saying anything concrete, merely implying.

Greg frowned. "Who are you?" He asked sternly.

Mycroft smirked.

"I don't mean your name, Mr. Holmes."

"Well, my dear Prime Minister, I am the man who will be pulling your strings for as long as you occupy this post. Once you resign you will be free from my influence."

"So you want me to resign?" That seemed the most obvious answer. Like hell Greg was going to give up everything he had worked so hard to get.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what?"

"I already explained, Mr. Prime Minister." The mockery was so obvious in his voice.

"So," Greg leaned forward on his elbows. "You are saying that you are going to control my every action." He scoffed. "Yeah, sure."

"Not every action." Mycroft replied with a level of condescension that Greg really didn't appreciate. "Mostly foreign policy, some secret affairs."

"I believe I am familiar with the head of MI6 and he is not you."

"Oh he is a lovely man. And his wife makes delicious pancakes." Mycroft smiled while Greg was trying to quickly come up with another approach to the situation. "Also I am quite sure he'd advise you not to stand in my way."

"What will you do if I go against you?" This was ridiculous; Greg should not even be asking this question, he should not be considering Mycroft Holmes's words. The best course of action would have been to call Security and have this man escorted out of his office. But it was Security who let him in here in the first place. What was going on?

Mycroft sighed, as if all this was such a hardship. "I usually don't take part in what happens at Downing Street, and by that I mean I do not interfere with who is going to be elected as a new Prime Minister, but I do like crushing them down when they start making rush decisions that could only bring grief to my beloved country."

"Such a patriot you are."

"That I am," Mycroft nodded with a smile. But in the next moment it slipped from his face and the warmth disappeared from his grey eyes. "Do we have a deal, Prime Minister?"

"A deal?" Greg repeated incredulously. "I still have no idea who you are. And you are asking me to blindly obey you? Who in their right mind would agree?"

Mycroft looked away with a roll of his eyes. "I so hoped it wouldn't come to petty persuasion."

"Is that a threat? I do not take well to threats." Greg warned. He _knew_ he should call the security – it was a right thing to do according to the protocol and, frankly, to common sense – but Gregory Lestrade had never had much common sense when his own well-being was in question.

"I am not making any threats, Prime Minister," Mycroft replied in a tone that suggested that the mere idea was preposterous. "I'm merely stating that you are more difficult than your predecessor."

Greg kept silent, despite all the new questions running through his head, preferring to wait for the man to continue. He didn't have to wait long.

"Are you familiar with the, so called, 'Bond Air' incident?"

"The plane crash."

Mycroft nodded. "And how much do you know about what had actually happened?"

Greg narrowed his eyes, mistrust rearing up with new force. Who was this man? "I know enough to understand what you are implying."

"Wonderful." The man replied with delight. "Then I only have to say that the whole incident was orchestrated by yours truly," he gave a slight nod. "And you'd understand me completely."

"How can I trust you? A man who broke into my office?"

"That's the thing, Prime Minister. I did not break in. I simply walked in, with no one stopping me. Because, trust me, people close to that one man in power – who is now you – know not to get in my way. I only do what is best for my country."

"That country being?"

Mycroft laughed airily. "Tricky question? It did not work."

Greg smiled despite himself. No matter the circumstances, it was a pleasure – talking to Mr. Holmes. "So you are saying we are going to be working together?" He asked lightly.

"Don't worry, Prime Minister, you will realize that everything I am saying is the truth soon enough." A smirk stretched across his thin lips at the playful tone.

Greg laughed, still not sure what to think of this man and his words. Anyway, he found he rather liked Mycroft. "Then call me Greg."


	2. Chapter 2

"Mr. Holmes, what a lovely surprise!" Greg exclaimed as the door to his office opened to reveal a familiar figure.

"Prime Minister," Mycroft nodded in greeting as he crossed the office to occupy his usual chair.

"How many times will I have to ask you to call me Greg?" The Prime Minister laughed. "Should I order you?"

"I'd like to see you try," Mycroft scoffed haughtily but there was a small smile gracing his features. "Also I think I am allowed to do this since you refuse to call me by my own name."

"Mr. Holmes, your name is too special to use it so carelessly." Greg wasn't sure if the other man realized that the Prime Minister meant it in more sense than one. He never even knew if Mycroft's responses to his flirting had been absolutely unconscious or completely thought through.

"Well then I see that we are stuck, Prime Minister."

"I'm sure we'll find our way out of it." Greg shuffled the folders on his desk just to occupy his hands and, time for subtle flirting over, get back to business. "When are you leaving for Paris?"

"Tomorrow at noon." Mycroft replied readily. "I still have a meeting tonight, late in the evening."

"A meeting or a date?" Greg asked, a completely unnecessary question. There was no reason for him to be so curious about that subject, but for the simple want to know. His tone sounded teasing and he hoped Mycroft wouldn't recognize the note of barely formed jealousy hidden underneath.

"Negotiations."

"Oh well…" Gradually Greg had come to accept that Mycroft Holmes was a bigger force than any government official; he still asked too many questions, wanting to know everything about the man's business affairs, but Greg had come to terms with not being the most influential person in the country. He still got his chance to do something good for the people and most of the official decisions were still his to make…but when the situation proved to be too difficult or too much depended on his decision Mycroft Holmes appeared seemingly out of nowhere and came up with solutions so elegant that there was nothing else to do but to follow them.

The man was genius and Greg had accepted that. His interest in Mycroft's none-political affairs however was something he had been fighting tooth and nail since the day they met.

"Your flight is scheduled today." This wasn't a question but Greg nodded nonetheless. Another restless night – what a fun. He hoped he would have some nice company on that flight but as it turned out Mycroft had some other business to attend to. Just like always.

"Any further instructions?" He asked with dry humor that only got him a glare as an answer.

Mycroft squinted at him. "You should probably get some rest. Tomorrow will be difficult."

Greg smiled, preferring not to dwell on the nature of the other man's concern. He liked to imagine that Mycroft cared about him, not only about the outcome of the assembly. "Anything else I can help you with?" Mycroft would not come to him to simply remind of the evening's flight. Or just to chat – efficiency was always at the forefront of the man's mind. Greg respected him for it, but it would have been nice to get at least one visit just for the sake of them seeing each other. Or maybe Greg was just an old romantic and was imagining things where there was nothing to imagine in the first place. Still, Mycroft Holmes was a smart man, he must be aware of the Prime Minister's attraction to him – and he was not saying no; there had never been an outright rejection and it gave Greg that little fraction of hope.

"That green folder on your right," Mycroft broke into his thoughts with his reply. "I'll need it for my meeting."

Wordlessly Greg picked the mentioned folder and handed it over the table to the other man. Mycroft took it carefully, laying it down in his lap. There was no need for him to look inside, he was perfectly informed about the contents of it – probably even before the Prime Minister had heard about it.

"Thank you."

There was nothing else to say and so they stayed in silence, watching each other. Greg expecting any more requests, orders, advices, Mycroft…who knew what the enigmatic man was thinking about. Minutes passed and then Mycroft just stood up, a folder in one hand and the umbrella clutched in the other, and thanked Gregory for his assistance quietly.

Greg, confused by the silent staring mere moments before, hurried to get to his feet. "Let me walk you to your car."

Mycroft lifted a questioning eyebrow but did not protest as Greg held the door open for him and followed him down the staircase. They walked in silence, Mycroft ahead, but Greg could not shake off the feeling that something had changed, something had shifted in their relationship but so subtly that he could not grasp it, try as he might. So he followed the other man, pondering in silence, and together they exited Downing Street.

Greg went ahead to the black car waiting at the front, waving away the bodyguards so that they could prolong their little moment of privacy. The Prime Minister opened the car door for his one the most precious adviser. He could see Mycroft's surprise in the slight tilt of his head and lifting of his eyebrows but only grinned in response. The expression disappeared quickly, only to reappear again the moment Greg muttered "Have a good flight, Mycroft." Just before he slammed the car door closed after the other man.

Greg grinned to himself, standing at the curb and watching the black car drive away a flustered Mycroft Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

"Well, if it isn't the infamous Mr. Holmes." Greg drawled the moment he caught sight of the man.

Mycroft turned, eyes confused and searching for the source of voice, and then, when his gaze fell on the Prime Minister, he frowned but came up to meet the other man half way. "You should be in a meeting." Was the first thing out of his mouth.

"Well, hello to you too." Greg replied, his tone light. "Nice to see you."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but his demeanor changed, expression softening and tone turning friendlier. "Good evening, Prime Minister. I was merely wondering what had brought you here at this time of the day. I was lead to believe that your meeting was taking longer than usual."

"I managed to sneak out early."

At Mycroft's flat look Greg looked down bashfully and said. "Fine, it just ended but I asked Amelia to inform you that it was still in progress."

"Corrupting your own assistant?"

"Don't you dare remove her." Greg warned sternly, aware what the other man was capable of. He didn't want the poor girl to get fired for helping him.

"I don't appreciate people lying to me." Mycroft replied haughtily.

Greg decided against pointing out that this was what Mycroft himself did a lot. And it was highly unpleasant to be lied to, especially by a person you cared about. Greg just smiled and steered the topic of the conversation. "I had a very good reason to do so." He nodded self-importantly. Then Greg looked around at the people milling about, keeping a polite distance to allow them a parody of privacy but sending them subtle curious glances. It was not the right place for what the Prime Minister had in mind. "Come on," he put a hand on Mycroft's forearm and pushed the man gently in the right direction. "Let's talk in my office."

Once they were hidden from prying eyes, Greg moved his hand from the others forearm to his lower back – a light caress - before letting go and stepping around the man so that they would be face to face. "A week ago," he started in a serious tone. "I obtained a very valuable piece of information."

"Pray tell, what may that be?" Mycroft asked with mild interest. He doubted there was any piece of information the Prime Minister knew that Mycroft had not been aware of. There were times Greg felt offended by such disregard but there was nothing he could do – any intelligence report landed first on Mycroft Holmes's desk and only then was handed to the Prime Minister.

"I was told that you, Mr. Holmes," he pushed at Mycroft's chest with his finger, allowing accusation to seep into his voice. "Have a birthday today. Something that you failed to mention last time we met."

Mycroft glanced down, clearly uncomfortable. "That is not your concern." He said stiffly, but his tone failed to be strict and he didn't meet Greg's eyes. This reaction was new; the Prime Minister allowed himself a moment of speculation – 'I care but do not want you to see this' expression seemed a wonderful assumption. Now if only it were true…

"That is for me to decide." Greg countered. Then his voice softened. "Really, Mr. Holmes, you shouldn't rob me of an opportunity to get you a crazy birthday present."

"How crazy?" Mycroft lifted his eyebrows. A playful glint appeared in his eyes – a clear sign that the man had gotten over his embarrassment.

In his free time Greg liked to play a game of his own imagining 'The ways I can make Mycroft Holmes flustered'. Some of them hadn't worked, a lot were still waiting for the right moment, and the most of them warranted a situation which was unacceptable for their current relationship. After all, Mycroft probably wouldn't be pleased if the Prime Minister had suddenly, but very gently, bit his earlobe, or licked his collarbone – and those were the tamest of his fantasies.

"You'll just have to see for yourself." Greg retorted, setting his fantasies aside for the moment.

"You are aware that I do not like surprises?"

"Yes, but you will like this one. I promise."

"Please, Prime Minister, do not make promises you can't keep. It is the basis of your profession, after all." Mycroft countered but allowed himself to be ushered aside to a less formal part of the office. There was a couch, which they occupied, sitting side by side and a little too close for colleagues but not close enough for friends (lovers), which they were not, and a coffee table with an elongated parcel on it. Mycroft eyed it curiously albeit warily.

"This is your craziness?" He tilted his head to the side and glanced at the other man.

"It's your birthday present." Greg announced proudly. He ran his fingers over the parcel lovingly before pushing it over the polished tabletop, in his subtle way urging Mycroft to open it.

"Do I really want to know what's inside?"

"You will love it," Greg promised once again. Truth be told, he wasn't so sure, but hoped that his confidence would pass to the man he was so desperately trying to impress.

Tentatively, Mycroft reached for the box; it was dark grey and elongated, pretty big, leaving a lot of options for Mycroft's imagination. Carefully he lifted the lid and put it aside. His eyes widened as he noticed the thing inside and a pleased smile graced his lips.

"This…is not a bad surprise." Mycroft allowed his smile to widen as he glanced at the other man.

Greg just laughed. "I guess that is the best compliment I can get from you? But you just wait until I tell you what this lovely thing can do."

Mycroft lifted his eyebrows in curiosity and carefully lifted the new umbrella from its case. It was very much like the one he always used – an old black thing with the paint faded on the creases with a handle made of wood. But this umbrella was brand new, it's colour bordering on black but turning to be rich dark blue with enough lighting. The handle was of pale wood with speckles of warm amber colour, polished to perfection and fitting into his palm. It felt nice in his hand.

Mycroft tore his eyes from the present. "It is lovely. Thank you." The smile that now bloomed on his face was not as wide but even sweeter; he ducked his head, almost shy.

"And it has some great additional functions." Greg announced proudly.

"A brolly? Having additional functions?"

"Well, you always said I watch too many spy movies." The Prime Minister said bashfully.

"You didn't…?"

Greg grinned. "Come on. Let's move somewhere we won't be disturbed and I'll show you everything this little thing is capable of!" He grabbed Mycroft's hand to drag the other man to a room adjoining the office. They wouldn't run the risk being disturbed there. After all, Greg did not want someone to walk in on him explaining Mycroft how to shoot an electric gun hidden at the point of the umbrella or get a knife out of the handle.

He was happy to see that Mycroft seemed pleased with his birthday present.


	4. Chapter 4

"Mr. Holmes, always such a pleasure to see you." Greg cooed, hoping he wasn't coming across as sleazy. That would have quite the opposite effect from what he desired.

Mycroft's face contorted into a confused frown. "You are the one who came to me."

"Yeah," the Prime Minister chuckled. "Never knew you had an office here at Downing St. Came as a surprise to me actually."

Mycroft didn't comment on it but Greg was sure he caught a hint of a smile as the other man turned away. "Always so nondescript." He laughed lightly and Mycroft sent him a playful glare.

"May I enquire after the purpose for your visit?"

"Oh well…" The Prime Minister was so confident, standing just behind the door to this small office, sure that this was what he wanted to do. Sure that he wouldn't be rejected. Now though…his confidence wavered. His words stumbled over each other as he tried to express himself. "You remember the gala at the end of the month…"

"The one at the French embassy? Of course I do."

"Good." Greg nodded; the confirmation was absolutely unnecessary but it gave him a pause before his next words. "I was wondering…if you'd agree to accompany me…?"

Mycroft seemed stunned for a moment; he stood frozen and just stared back at the Prime Minister. After a second he was back to aloof detachment. "I'm sorry but I will have to refuse."

Greg made sure not to let his disappointment show. "Mycroft," he stepped toward the other man. Their eyes locked and the Prime Minister did not let him avert his eyes. "Please, be my date?"

Mycroft was silent, contemplative. He bit his lip, grey eyes soft with regret, and slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry." This time it was more sincere.

"Why not?"

"As your adviser," it was the first time Mycroft had used that word in reference to himself and it sounded wrong coming from his lips. "I'd suggest you take some lovely lady as your date."

"Can't." Greg rejected the idea immediately. He pointed at himself and said with a smile. "I'm the Gay Prime Minister, remember?"

"My intelligence reported that you are bisexual." Mycroft frowned but it lacked his usual sternness.

"True. But those guys on my campaign persuaded me that people won't trust me if they knew. 'How can you decide on a police course if you can't decide on your sexuality?'" Greg quoted with a cringe.

"That's ridiculous."

"Good to know that you agree with me. Now if you'd only agree to be my date…" That was not subtle. Not subtle at all. Such things didn't work well with a man like Mycroft Holmes.

Mycroft looked away again, sheepish. Greg had never seen him this way; the Prime Minister was torn between appreciating the sigh, feeling honored to be allowed to witness it and fighting off the disappointment slowly filling his gut like cold lead. He was determined not to let the confident smile drop.

"I don't want to refuse you for the third time." Mycroft sounded sad.

"Then don't." Some desperation seeped into the Prime Minister's voice. This was such a small thing but he wanted it with fierce passion.

Mycroft shook his head without uttering a word. That's when Greg realized that there was no use in pressuring him anymore. He took a metaphorical step back in their conversation while literally stepping up to the other man so that they stood chest to chest. He looked up into Mycroft's face, eyes roaming over sharp features. "Fine." He relented but his voice was the opposite from defeated. "Then promise me a dance?"

"Dance?"

"Yes. One dance. I'm not asking for more." Greg repeated with conviction. "One dance." He was not going to back off on that.

"When did we start trading?" Mycroft asked.

"One dance."

"I don't remember ever saying there was something I wanted so that you would be acting like that."

"One dance." Greg simply repeated.

"What makes you think there is a chance I'll agree?"

"Because you want it."

There was a pause.

"Just one dance is all I ask." The Prime Minister said softly.

Mycroft was looking at him, contemplatively. Greg could see the moment his resolve crumbled.

"One dance." This time it was Mycroft repeating the words in a soft voice.

"One dance." Greg nodded. It was a small victory but it made him happy.


	5. Chapter 5

"One dance," Mycroft muttered under his breath, hidden in the safety of his apartment. Only there could he allow himself a moment of silent consideration – these walls could safely hide his thoughts about a certain ridiculously charming man. "One dance." Gregory had asked for much more but that was how much Mycroft was willing to give. A small thing? No, no, such a huge step backwards for Mycroft; a crack in the shield. Carefully constructed defenses on the verge of being brought down by an open smile and warm brown eyes.

So ridiculous.

Mycroft knew that giving in even a little bit could lead to disastrous consequences – a love affair with the Prime Minister surely could pull the Holmes right into the spot light, making him of interest to all those gossipy journalists and paparazzi. Mycroft didn't need his face on the front page of a magazine – that's what Gregory Lestrade was for; a public figure who people could love or hate. Someone to have the attention of the world while Mycroft was meeting the leaders of the other countries, bargaining with secret services, creating unions and starting wars.

But Gregory was so insistent, so charming and absolutely irresistible. While being handsome, the man also was not lacking in intelligence; it was no wonder people loved him. Even his enemies admired the Prime Minister – and that Mycroft knew for sure, he kept tabs on them all.

The other issue which bothered him was that Gregory seemed to know Mycroft a little too well. For all the short time they spent working together the man could predict Mycroft's reactions, guess his likes and dislikes surprisingly well. It was disturbing but also…nice, in way. Sweet.

The birthday present – a beautifully made umbrella with additional functions that could certainly be useful – still made Mycroft secretly smile to himself. Gregory didn't realize how pleased the present made him. These days Mycroft never left his apartment without it, be it a rainy or a sunny day.

"One dance…" And yet again Mycroft's mind wandered back to that topic. Was it worth it? All the risk of getting attached, of ruining their detached working relationship for one dance? And didn't it mean that he had already gotten attached to Gregory since this was the way his trail of thought was moving? Since when had he even cared? Since he had already agreed?

One dance…

Gregory fought ruthlessly for it, he would pursue the object of his affection during the party and surely wouldn't let Mycroft out of his promise.

Such a peculiar phrase, Mycroft mused, an object of one's affection. The one person that always got Gregory's attention. Mycroft felt flattered. And also pleased.

So stupid.

Mycroft shook his head to dispel such thoughts. It was just one dance at a party with so many guests it would easily go unnoticed. Even if the person dancing with him would be the Prime Minister.

Just one dance. That was Mycroft's condition.

But what if Mycroft wanted more?


	6. Chapter 6

The ballroom was decorated beautifully. Outside large windows darkness had already fell upon evening London but inside was full of soft light from glass chandeliers. It reflected from the diamond necklaces of beautiful women in long gowns and drowned in the tall glasses of sparkling champagne. The air smelled of expensive perfume and flowers.

The room was full of people but the man of the hour had eyes for only one person. Gregory spotted him as soon as the object of his affections entered the room. Mycroft Holmes was perfect as always, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, gracefully making his way around the room, drifting from one group of people to another, no doubt inquiring after their health and making subtle hints that he knew all about their secrets. Mycroft managed to have that effect on people, intimidating in a very gentle way. But this was a party – he wouldn't be too insistent on business talk.

Unhurriedly, Greg went through the crowd, intending to meet Mycroft on the way. The other man didn't notice him so far, distracted by conversation all around him. He was in his element, words and small gestures, subtle and so easy to miss; but Mycroft Holmes's eyes missed nothing. Their gaze swept over his interlocutors, taking in the smallest details, making deductions, unwrapping their secrets with less effort than it took to open a box of chocolates. And the Holmes loved chocolates even more than he loved other peoples' mysteries.

Greg smiled when Mycroft tore his gaze from the one of the ambassador's hands, where it rested just a little bit too lowdown on his PA's back, and allowed himself a smirk as soon as he passed them. That was his cue, the Prime Minister decided and stepped forward, carefully navigating the crowd and emerging right in front of his target. Mycroft looked only mildly surprised, keeping his expression carefully neutral. It wasn't easy to see through, but at that moment Greg didn't really care. He had a right for at least one dance with the man he liked and Greg wasn't planning on letting said man escape his affections that night. Mycroft had promised.

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes," he started smoothly, eyes glancing over the other man's figure, taking a better look now that the he was so close. "You look wonderful today."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Please, there is no need for clichéd flattery, Prime Minister."

"Maybe at least this evening you'd agree to call me by my Christian name. We are not at work right now."

This caused Mycroft to pause; the man narrowed his eyes as he thought the statement over before heaving a staged exasperated sigh, "We'll see."

That was a better answer than Greg could have expected. He grinned and offered to get Mycroft a drink and with a customary 'Are you trying to get me drunk?' the other man conceded. Although, it might not have been such a joke, maybe the Prime Minister was harboring some hopes that the alcohol would be able to make the other feel more relaxed, lower his inhibitions enough for him to agree to a second dance. Well, no one could say that Gregory Lestrade was not an ambitious man.

After that they talked, choosing neutral topics – weather being one of the most popular, such an easy subject to discuss and yet news every day – and Greg managed to keep Mycroft's attention mostly focused on his own persona and words. From time to time some politician or a banker came up to exchange a few words; Gregory could never tell who they were more interested in buttering up. But mostly the two were left alone. There were more than a few curious glances, people became less and less subtle with every new glass of champagne, but otherwise no one bothered them with questions they both were not ready to face. Mycroft had not come to the party as the Prime Minister's date, but the behaviour of the both of them suggested that he might be.

From time to time Mycroft fixed the enquiring gaze of his pale blue eyes on the Prime Minister as if confused, as if expecting something which did not hurry to present itself. Greg knew what the other had been waiting for, dreading maybe, or maybe anticipating. With Mycroft Holmes it was hard to tell.

After they had exhausted some of the most obvious easy conversation topics, weather and an impending rain coming up for the second time by the end, Greg finally turned to his not date and, offering a hand, asked. "Would you care for a dance?"

Mycroft didn't need to act surprised, he was genuinely startled by the question. For the most of the evening they were only engaging in a pleasant if somewhat dull conversation, which was unexpected – Mycroft thought that the Prime Minister would be eager for that one dance he managed to reserve. But the man was a perfect gentleman the whole time, never even once had he mentioned a promise he extracted form Mycroft. And now, when Mycroft was as relaxed and comfortable as he could ever be during such a grand party, Gregory chose to strike; but yet again he did not force Mycroft in fulfilling the promise, he merely asked, giving the other man a chance of an escape. But Mycroft wasn't going to escape. Wordlessly he took the Prime Minister's hand and let himself be lead to the dance floor.

After a second of fumbling, figuring out who'd lead and choosing a right place to put their hands – Greg was very tempted to go just a tad bit lower than Mycroft's waist, they started swaying to a melodious tune. It was awkward at first; such things did not come naturally to Mycroft Holmes, but then they fell into a slow rhythm and simple movements; no need for that elaborate dipping and swirling stuff. The pair attracted curious glances, carefully thrown under pretence of observing the hall, but not fleeting enough to fool anyone. It was hard to tell who was more surprised – those who knew who Mycroft Holmes truly was, or those whose who thought him to be a yet another politician.

Mycroft tried to ignore the looks, he did so with the determination of a man who was very much bothered by them; he fixed his eyes on the Prime Minister's, but his gaze usually slipped, sliding over the man's shoulder to the crowds behind. It was highly bothersome and he already was trying to come up with the idea on how to cover this up later…

"Mycroft." His name, spoken so softly, whispered gently into his ear, not really a word but merely a breath caressing the skin. That was all it took to bring him back to the present, to find his place in this man's arms, grounded by a strong but loving embrace.

They were swaying slowly and Gregory's hand caressed his back over the soft fabric of Mycroft's jacket, palm warm. It was intimate, the most intimate touch they had shared for all the time they had spent together. There was something in that touch, that unobtrusive caress, infinitely sincere, affectionate. Gregory's other hand held Mycroft's as the Prime Minister steered him along the dance floor. It felt nice, but if Mycroft was truthful with himself, it felt wonderful. It felt like he never wanted to let go.

They danced and danced, until the song came to an end, the last notes of a melody fading into the mindless chatter of the guests. The Prime Minister held on to him for a moment longer, as if loath to let go, making a final spin and coming to a stop. Mycroft didn't let go of him either. It was infinitely hard – to lift his head from where it was lying on the Prime Minister's shoulder; it was even more difficult to take a step back, away from the other man's arms – that's why Mycroft couldn't bring himself to do it. Standing in the middle of a ballroom with Gregory Lestrade looking up at him, his brown eyes so open and full of adoration, how could anyone resist? Another melody started, tempo a little faster but still melodious enough to warrant slow swaying in each other's arms.

The Prime Minister didn't move. Mycroft saw his eyes dart around the room once, taking in other dancing couples around them, and then the penetrating gaze settled back on Mycroft, expecting.

Mycroft gulped, finding his voice. "Would you mind dancing with me once more, Prime Minister?" And still the question came as a weak whisper into the other man's ear. Mycroft pulled back an inch to see the other's reaction.

"Of course, Mycroft." He was smiling, a huge grin stretching his lips and the smile crinkling his eyes.

Mycroft looked away as they started moving again, unable to hold that happy gaze for long. The temperature felt too high and he was sure there was a blush staining his cheeks. How ridiculous it was – the way a simple question excited Gregory. How foolish that it made Mycroft just as happy.

Once again whispering in his ear Mycroft admitted. "I like dancing with you, Gregory."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great thank you to Riverdancer179ff.net) for beta-work and Brit-picking.
> 
> I’m sorry for a long wait. We are venturing into angst territory. Also in the next month I’ll be leaving for another city for a job. I’ll be away for three months, I don’t know yet if I will have time to write there or even if I’ll have a reliable Internet connection, so, unfortunately, I can’t say when the next update will be.
> 
> But I am planning on continuing this story. I enjoy writing this AU too much:)

“Is something bothering you?” It was phrased like a question, it _sounded_ like a question but Mycroft knew better than to think of it as such; it was merely a polite way to meddle with his affairs. It was a strategy he was long acquainted with as it was Mummy’s favourite. It didn’t work well with Sherlock, his younger brother always needed a more direct approach, but it was the perfect strategy to make her older son spill his secrets. Mycroft suspected that Mummy was entirely too proud of mastering those techniques.

“Nothing really,” he brushed the fake concern aside, not giving in easily.

“But you look like you have something on your mind.”

“I always have something on my mind.” Mycroft countered.

The elderly woman smirked. “Oh, did I say some _thing_? Sorry, dear, I meant some _one_.”

The temptation to roll his eyes was so big, Mycroft had to take a bite of a chocolate biscuit in order to calm himself.

“That is not the topic I wish to discuss.” He replied stiffly.

“So you know exactly who I am talking about.” Her tone was even but there was such glee in her eyes Mycroft felt like he might be sick. The situation was a source of amusement to his beloved mother, but to him it only brought distress.

The memory of Gregory Lestrade holding him in an intimate embrace as they danced and danced, swaying among couples around them, too noticeable even in the large crowd of guests, came to his mind unbidden. It was hard to keep his concentration on staying nondescript with the other man’s hands so gentle and his voice low and soft whispering in Mycroft’s ear. It was beautiful and Mycroft found himself caught in the moment; it would have been perfect if only there wasn’t the looming threat of consequences.

Consequences that Mummy seemed to disregard completely. The woman was in no way careless or thoughtless but she firmly believed that feelings should come before cold mind.

“I have some lovely pictures,” she informed her son, teasing.

Mycroft’s head snapped, eyes narrowed and his gaze troubled. “Pictures?”

“Oh no need to look so terrified, dear.” She assured him, which did nothing except maybe make him look even more troubled. “That lovely girl, your PA, made them for me. No one from the press will get them.”

Mycroft still didn’t look any better so she added. “No one will see them except me. I promise you.”

“You can’t promise that.” Mycroft replied harshly.

“So mistrustful,” Mummy rolled her eyes. “You know I’ll never let those pictures be leaked to the press, dear.” She leaned in her chair, covering his hand with hers. The soothing gesture seemed to finally have some effect on her older son.

“I know,” he sighed, defeated. “I’m sorry for making those unreasonable assumptions.”

“As you should be.” She reproached lightly. “Suspicious of your own mother.”

Another apology died at the tip of his tongue as she laughed. “Drink your tea, it will get cold.”

Mycroft Holmes, a menacing threat to his country’s enemies and the most influential man in the United Kingdom, reached for his china cup obediently.

“Now, calmly, tell me what the issue is.” Mummy ordered. “There is this handsome intelligent man, and don’t look at me like that, I know exactly what your type is, expressing interest in you. Which is not surprising in the least, I might add. You are what any man would want.”

“A calculating old man too engrossed in his work?” Mycroft asked as a joke, but his mother caught the bitterness in his tone.

“You are not an old man,” she started with this. “I am old, you are mature.”

“That’s very helpful, thank you.” Mycroft muttered under his breath.

“Your work is important, there is no getting away from that, but it hardly takes that much time as you are always suggesting.” She took a dainty seep of her own tea, creating a staged pause in the conversation. “Don’t think I don’t know about all those lovers your PA is juggling while still being present at your side half the time.”

Mycroft would have choked on his own tea had he not been so used to the strange turns conversation with Mummy usually took.

“And you only need to find one lover, I’m sure if it’s absolutely necessary she’ll give you some helpful pointers.”

“Mother, you can’t be suggesting what I think…”

“I’m not saying you should take sexual advice from her.” Mrs. Holmes beat him to it. Mycroft’s blood ran hot at the statement and he felt, or maybe wished, that he could die from mortification at that exact moment. “Just some advice on planning your time.”

“Mother, please,” Mycroft interjected before she could come up with more embarrassing advices. “This has nothing to do with my situation.” Even saying it took an effort.

“He is just a man, like you. The most significant issue is already resolved – it’s obvious that you like each other.” She shrugged elegantly. “I see no other problems.”

“The problem, as you put it, is…” Mycroft trailed away, considering there was only one way to finish that sentence and his mother should know that.

“What is it?”

Which didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to be difficult about it. There was a sparkle of mirth in her eyes, so much like Sherlock’s but with a significant lack of resentment.

“That he is the Prime Minister.”

“So what? It’s not like his job requires him to take a vow of celibacy.”

“Mother,” Mycroft groaned, unable to keep up with her anymore. He put down the cup with a satisfying jingling noise, only regretting that it didn’t break.

Mrs. Holmes’s teasing smile softened. “Prime Ministers are allowed to have personal lives.”

“Only they are not personal at all.”

“So what?” Mrs. Holmes asked, gently, as she peered at her older son.

“Mother,” Mycroft lifted his eyes to meet hers, tired and sad, just to match the tone of his voice. “Gregory is the center of public attention. I cannot join him in that.” They were the words he kept repeating again and again in the private of his own thoughts. He wore himself down with his own hands, destroying any hope that dared shine through the walls of reason. “My position is too important to risk it becoming known. Which is inevitable,” he raised his voice to speak over a protest she wanted to make. “If we were to become…a couple.”

“Darling, don’t give up on your happiness just for the job.”

“Who says..?” Mycroft shook his head. “I believe I will be able to overcome a simple infatuation on order to stay professional.”

Mummy’s smile had an edge of sadness to it, which he preferred to ignore. “Last time I was _this_ infatuated I gave that man the most wonderful gift – two beautiful sons.”

Mycroft turned away, unable to hold her gaze, and hummed noncommittally as a response. She was looking too much into this, he persuaded himself. She saw something where there was nothing.

And it didn’t help that even his inner voice knew that Mummy rarely was wrong, especially when it concerned emotions and feelings.

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts, darling.” Mummy said softly and, with a kiss to his forehead, left.

Mycroft stared into space, remembering how Gregory’s lips once brushed his cheek as the Prime Minister was whispering to him during their dance. It was unintentional, just a brush as they swayed to the side with the music, feather-like and not even intended to be a kiss, but nonetheless…nonetheless…Even such a small thing managed to evoke a hurricane of emotions.

Mycroft knew his face must have flushed an unappealing shade of scarlet at that second, he felt too hot, breathless, suffocating, dizzy but not because of them turning in circles but only because of that small brush of lips to his skin.

Gregory seemed unaffected by it, going on with his whispered story while his hand, splayed on the small of Mycroft’s back guided them around the dance floor.

Mycroft had left not long after that, tearing himself away from the other man’s arms, claiming he had somewhere else to be – lying without his usual finesse – and running as far away from him as he could. To save his own sanity. To save his own heart. Or was it too late?

Mycroft smirked bitterly, Mummy’s not so subtle implications coming to him once again. She believed he must be in love. Acting so irrationally, moping around the place – her words not his – his thoughts completely occupied by one person only.

Mycroft saw the basis for her deductions, but…He wasn’t in love with the Prime Minister, was he? That would be news worth a scandal. The only safe way to avoid which would be not to pursue any personal relationship with the man. Sounded rather simple, didn’t it? If only Gregory Lestrade agreed with him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since I posted an update for this story. I am sorry. I've been away for months and then it took me some time to get back into the right frame of mind to write again. This story is not abandoned, I already started next chapter.
> 
> This chapter is ubeted. I'm looking for someone who can Brit-pick this story (with maybe a side of beta-reading). If anyone is interested, please PM me.
> 
> I hope you will still enjoy this story:)

Greg couldn’t tell if Mycroft’s avoidance of him was purposeful or not. He hadn’t seen the man since their almost date at the party, at least that what he called it in his head, but they were both swamped with work so it was hard to tell if it was coincidental or if Mycroft was putting to practice his many avoiding tactics. And trust Greg when he said that they were numerous; during his first week in the new office Mycroft had taken his time to sit the Prime Minister down like a failing student and tutor him in subtle ways of hiding from people you didn’t have time or will to deal with. It was a very useful lesson with a lot of helpful tips drilled into his head, but now it made Greg wonder if Mycroft had techniques designed specifically to avoid any contact with the person of the highest authority because it had been a week and a half since the Prime Minister last saw him. And it was all so casual, like Greg having such a big workload he didn’t have any strength to worry about anything else.

That was why Greg firmly believed that it was not his fault that he was reduced to shouting for all the Downing Street to hear to catch attention of the elusive man. “Mycroft!” People turned around to see who was shouting and why and, when they saw it was the Prime Minister, searched who he so desperately was calling for.

Mycroft, irritated frown prominent even from afar, sent him a scathing look but did not dare run away when all the eyes were glued to him already.

“Prime Minister,” he inclined his head politely as Greg came close. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Greg grinned. “Yes, there is a matter of utmost importaince that I wish to discuss with you in my office.”

“I am sure it can be arranged, however right at this moment I am late for a meeting.” Mycroft made a move to leave but Greg didn’t let him, speaking up before he can be turned down.

“Right now, Mr. Holmes. This business can’t wait.” And with that he led Mycroft away under curious gazes of politicians and their secretaries.

“Gregory, truly, there is no need to be acting this way.” The reprimand fell from Mycroft’s lips the moment they were alone, hidden from watchful eyes by heavy wooden doors. His face showed no understanding on what the matter could be but it wasn’t fooling the Prime Minister.

Greg made his way further into the office, wishing he could have a glass of scotch before starting this conversation, but knowing he had a full day of work ahead. “You have been avoiding me.” He said bluntly.

No emotion showed on Mycroft’s face, features schooled into a carefully blank expression with no way to read into his thoughts. Greg hated that aloofness with passion at that moment because he could already see how the conversation was going to go. And he thought things were going so well between them…

“I have been busy with work, just as you had been.” Mycroft replied calmly.

Greg sent him a knowing look and sighed tiredly, falling into one of the chairs and gesturing for the other man to follow his example. “Unfortunately to you, I am aware of the existence of your avoidance techniques.”

Mycroft said down primly, so tense it was painstakingly obvious that he was ready to leave any minute. He didn’t reply, thus only confirming Greg’s suspicions. “Why?” He simply asked.

Mycroft shrugged as if it wasn’t of any importance. “In my opinion this doesn’t need any explanation.”

Greg let out a sigh through gritted teeth, reining his anger in. “I’m not going to accept all those ridiculous excuses about press and publicity. I refuse to allow this nonsense to rule my life.”

“You are a Prime Minister.” Mycroft retorted sternly, almost angrily, his voice rising. “You accepted the rules the moment you took this position.”

“That’s what you think.” Greg pointed out. He steeped his hands on the tabletop and peered at the other man over them.

“That’s what you should think.” Mycroft corrected irritably. There was finality in his tone and he stomped the umbrella on the soft carpet, leaning on it as he stood up. Umbrella that the Prime Minister had given the man for his birthday, Greg noted bitterly.

“I didn’t say we are done with this conversation, Mr. Holmes.”

“Pulling your authority?” Mycroft asked, surprised. He waved it away though. “That is not going to work on me.”

“I can have you arrested if I wanted. To keep you in a nice damp cell. For a short time sure, but I think it might be enough for you to come to your senses.”

“You can try.” Mycroft nodded, condescending. And then added carelessly. “And we don’t really have any _damp_ cells. Our prisons are well looked after.”

Greg regarded him coldly, silently. His hands fell flat onto the cool surface of the desk and he sighed. “Mycroft, let’s not…Let’s not do this.”

“What exactly?”

“Try to one up each other.” He shook his head. “This is ridiculous.”

“On that I can agree with you.”

Greg leveled him with a mild glare and leaned forward in his chair. “Don’t play this game with me, Mr. Holmes. I know that you feel something for me, and I am not going to insist that this something is mad passionate love, but it’s obvious you are attracted to me at least on a physical level. Don’t,” Greg raised his voice over Mycroft’s protest. “Try to deny it. No use in that after our evening together.”

“If you allow me to remind you, Prime Minister, there was never _our evening together_. It was an official party that both of us happened to attend.” With that statement, as if it finalized anything, Mycroft got up to leave.

Greg intercepted him halfway, reminiscent of the way he did it on the evening, but this time instead of gently stepping into his arms Mycroft backed away. “So you dance like that with all the high standing politicians?”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes in anger. “Careful. This sounds too much like an insult. One which you really don’t want to make.”

Greg deflated a bit, realizing how he might have sounded, but didn’t drop his resolve; he needed Mycroft to admit that the attraction wasn’t one-sided and Greg wasn’t making it all up in his head. “I am sorry. For that comment.’” He paused, taking a breath, throwing away his caution and doing what his instincts told him to do. “But not for this.”

Mycroft would have stumbled and fell had not strong hand gripped around his waist as the Prime Minister surged forward to kiss him. Another hand was gripping the side of his face, angling their mouths together and caressing his skin, the tenderness of the gesture a deep contrast with the aggressiveness of the kiss itself. He was frozen in the moment, so shocked and completely unprepared, never did he expect for the Prime Minister to step over the bounds of decency and do something so drastic. When the initial shock passed and the reality of the situation washed over him he lifted both hands, gently extracting himself from the embrace.

“Mycroft,” Gregory whispered furiously, desperation in his voice shadowing any other emotion.

“Prime Minister,” Mycroft countered, voice under control as well as his expression. He took a step away from another man and it took much more effort than it looked like. “I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

Gregory let him go; there was nothing else he could do to change Mycroft’s mind – it hurt to admit so, but any continual denial would be unhealthy for his mind and soul. “Of course.” He replied, voice low and raspy from the crushing disappointment, and took his own retreating step, clasping hands behind his back as not to reach out again.

The Prime Minister watched Mycroft leave, all composed and full of calm dignity as always; a treacherous tendril of hope sneaked into his heart again as the other man hesitated by the door. When Mycroft turned his face was scrunched into an unpleased frown. “I believe you have a flight early tomorrow morning.”

Greg managed to hold in a frustrated groaned until he was sure the other man was out of the earshot. Not only had he ruined all his chances of ever getting Mycroft Holmes, he pissed the man off so much he was sent away on a trip that should have been trusted to the ambassador. There was nothing to make his day worse.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Shadowdancer for beta-work:)

Now they stooped to phone calls. Mycroft was very happy to be probably the only adult person in the whole world to never receive a drunken phone call. That may have been the result of a very careful filtering his phone calls went through or simply came from him not having many friends. Which was not a disappointing factor in his life, thank you Mummy, right after his status as single. Those were things that had never bothered him and surely were not going to start after a particularly tedious lecture during a family dinner. But when it was the Prime Minister drunk dialing you there was no escape.

Anthea glanced at him, no subtlety at all – after all she knew he'd notice anyway so better not pretend like you are not interested. A phone, on silent but annoyingly vibrating on the tabletop, wouldn't stop ringing however hard Mycroft wished for it. A scraping noise disturbed the quietness of the office but Mycroft was reluctant to turn it off; somehow declining a call seemed more offensive than missing it – at least in the last option there was a benefit of the doubt that Mycroft was too busy to answer.

"It's the Prime Minister," Anthea couldn't keep quiet anymore. "What if it's urgent?"

"It's the middle of the night in…the country of interest." Mycroft caught himself in time before he spilled the actual whereabouts of the Prime Minister to everyone who cared to be listening in; and at a place like Downing Street someone was always listening in. "If it was truly urgent all the phones in ten mile radius would be exploding with calls. As you can see, everything is quiet, except for this little menace." He frowned and nodded at his phone still vibrating on the tabletop.

"Why are we avoiding phone calls from the Prime Minister again?" Anthea asked boldly, her inquiring eyes boring into him without a trace of shyness. She liked considering them both as one unit, working for the best of their country. She had a vivid imagination and sometimes her romantic fantasies ran wild – at one point the poor girl had asked her boss to introduce her to a real MI6 agent. Mycroft didn't hesitate to break her James Bond daydreams with images of a hard reality.

"Because _I_ can allow myself to ignore the insolent man for at least one evening."

"It's night where he is." The girl pointed out helpfully; the sly glint to her pretty eyes was anything but.

"I am perfectly aware of that." Mycroft's voice was coming out harsh and he glanced at the PA to make sure she wasn't taking it personally. But then again, what was he thinking – the nosy minx knew better than to get offended while fishing for information.

"Maybe you should answer." She suggested. "He'll be upset if you ignore him any longer."

A flat look was the only answer Mycroft planned on giving her, but a sly smile that stretched Anthea's painted lips was making him lose his cool. "This is not the topic we should be discussing."

"But it's the topic you'd _like_ to discuss." She stated simply with absolutely no doubt.

"I'm not the one collecting gossip around London."

"My exceptional skills in that area had proved useful on more than one occasion." She smiled sweetly at him. "If I remember correctly, just last week it helped you to take down the Minister of-"

"Let's not bring that up again." Mycroft spoke over her before anything important could be revealed. The office should be a free place where they could discuss business affairs, but Mycroft knew not to trust even these walls. There were things that needed to be kept hidden even from the government itself; if they knew everything that went through Mycroft's mind and were aware of every smallest affair that he orchestrated, they wouldn't be happy. Might actually try and send him to prison.

"Anyway, I wasn't aware that the Prime Minister was allowed to get drunk." Anthea commented suddenly.

Mycroft leveled her with a flat look, he was under impression that they were done with this conversation already, but apparently his nosy PA could go on and on not fearing the wrath of her boss. "He is just a human after all."

"Right." She replied and there was an undertone to her words that Mycroft didn't even want to try to decipher. She wasn't looking at him, twirling a pen between her fingers, as she continued. "So are you. Just two consenting adults, I don't see-"

"Enough." It came out too harsh, too much raw emotion in one simple word, and the girl startled looking up at him with trepidation.

"I'm sorry." Anthea murmured, lowering her eyes again.

Mycroft was tempted to give an apology of his own for such rude behavior, but if that was what it took to stop her talking about the subject…He didn't need to hear how amazing he and Gregory could be together from his PA just as he didn't need any encouragements to pursue this relationship from his mother.

"Could you please pass me that red folder?"

And with that the subject was finally closed and Mycroft was able to work in peace. Unfortunately it wasn't enough to escape the voice in his head, pleading the same case and giving all the same arguments, which sounded too reasonable for his sanity.

The phone stayed silent for hours.

*

Next time it rang was in the middle of the night; it's trilling rousing Mycroft from sleep. A light sleeper, he was alert and reaching for it in seconds. Mycroft wasted a moment to clear his throat before answering – it wouldn't do to sound hoarse and half asleep when answering an urgent call.

"Mycroft Holmes."

"Sir, we-we have an emergency." A nervous voice stuttered down the line. "Concerning the Prime Minister."

"What sort of emergency?" Mycroft asked while getting out of bed, promptly pulling out a fresh suit from the closet and sending a text for his driver from a second phone.

"An-an…" The tiny voice seemed too overwhelmed to continue talking.

"Well, go on. It's not like this in an issue of utmost importance, I'll just wait here while you gather your thoughts." Mycroft sneered sarcastically at the poor lad. His hands trembled slightly over the keys of the second phone – a text to his PA to meet him at the office. "What kind of emergency?"

"An assassination attempt." The man shouted all in one breath and grew quiet again.

"On the Prime Minister?"

"Yes, Sir."

"What a bloody idiot tries to kill the Prime Minister?"

His angry rhetorical question was answered with a confused. "We don't know yet. Sir."

Mycroft gave himself a moment to calm down before asking the question that bothered him the most. "How is he?" It sounded too personal, vulnerable. "How is the Prime Minister?"

"He's fine. It was a sniper but he missed. Medics are with the Prime minister as we speak. It's just a minor wound."

Mycroft let out a breath he was holding, his hands more steady now that he knew that Gregory wasn't dying. Dead. Only a little hurt.

"Sir?"

Realizing he kept silent for too long, a clear sign of weakness from his point of view, Mycroft steeled himself to get to business. "Organize a plane for the Prime Minister to leave as soon as the medics are done. I want him back in the UK immediately."

"Yes, Sir."

"How many people know about this?"

"That would be only…" Mycroft could practically hear the man's thoughts in his ragged breathing. "Me, his bodyguards and medics who are attending to him. And you, of course."

"Good, we are going to keep this under wraps. As far as anyone else concerned the Minister was called back to England by an important political issue that required his presence in the country." He would have to orchestrate such an issue and have it on the front pages of all newspapers by morning. He sent another text to Anthea, asking her to get Malcolm. His help would be invaluable in this situation.

"Does his condition require the Prime Minister staying at the hospital for a prolonged period of time?"

"I'm not sure, Sir. The medics did say the bullet just grazed his arm, so…probably not, but I am not an expert on those things."

Mycroft heaved a sigh but held in a reprimand of incompetence. "For now I want you to stay with the Prime Minister, make sure the story doesn't get leaked out to anyone, God save us if the press finds out. And wait for further instructions."

"Yes, Sir."

"Oh and it was quite foolish of you to give me all this information before checking if the line was secure." With that he hung up on the stuttering assistant. Of course his line was secure but it would do well to make the man more aware of his position and what it entailed.

What was happening next was a blur of phone calls, to Anthea, making sure she was on her way to the office just like he. To the medics when they finally finished treating the Prime Minister, making sure that there was no threat to his health and, thankfully no need for a stay at the hospital. Gregory in fact seemed to be perfectly fine but for a scratch on his right arm, where the bullet passed him, and a minor scare. Then there were endless talks with Malcolm and quite a huge bit of swearing on the other man's part. Phone calls to the papers to make sure their cover up story would be all over the news come morning. By the time morning issues of newspapers came out they were so exhausted, it was hard to stay upright. When the sun rose over London and the city was talking about a huge Cabinet scandal that needed the Prime Minister himself to come back to deal with it, Mycroft was lounging on a sofa in his own office at Number Ten. Blissfully alone as his colleagues had left to catch a couple hours of sleep before diving right back into this madness.

The only person Mycroft did not call that night was Gregory Lestrade himself.

It was only in the evening of that day that Mycroft dared show up at the Prime Minister's rooms. He talked with his doctor first, who was reassuringly optimistic and full of promises of a quick recovery. Mycroft also spent some time conversing with the poor lad who he spoke to on the phone that night, a young man who, in Mycroft's opinion could go far in his choice of career if only he acquired some self-confidence.

Finally, after putting this away for as long as he could Mycroft was knocking on the door of Gregory Lestrade's bedroom. Being begrudgingly granted permission, Mycroft stepped inside with hesitation. Which pretty quickly dissipated the moment he saw the Prime Minister, standing by the bookshelf with a glass of something that definitely wasn't apple juice in his hand.

"Why are you not in bed?" Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the man he startled with his stern question.

Gregory glanced around and, as soon as his eyes fell on his visitor, smiled. "I'd love to make a dirty joke right now but for your sake I'll restrain myself."

"You know what I mean. You should be resting. And definitely you shouldn't be drinking."

Gregory only laughed softly and took a sip of his drink. "I'm fine. Perfectly healthy."

"That's not what your doctor told me."

"I only have a scratch. A scratch, Mycroft. Which was properly bandaged." To prove his point he half turned, allowing Mycroft a view of his right arm, a bandage barely seen through the thin fabric of his white shirt. "The bullet merely grazed me. It's nothing."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the man, glaring until Gregory put down the glass and took two big steps away from it. "It could have been worse." Those words he said quietly – a secret thought that had been burning through his mind all this time.

"This sniper wasn't trying to kill me." Gregory retorted, his tone soothing but his words alarming.

"But then another can actually try and succeed." There was desperation to his words which he couldn't cover up despite how much he tried.

Gregory's face transformed into a grimace of pain for a second but then he was stepping to Mycroft, holding his hands between his, running his fingers over Mycroft's knuckles, trying to calm the other down. "It's okay. Everything is okay."

Mycroft looked back at him, fighting to keep the panic at bay, drinking in his calm and positivity. He took a deep breath. Then another. And another. And only after the tenth did he start to feel better .

"Have you calmed down?" Gregory asked tentatively and only then did Mycroft realize that sometime between deep breath two and three he had closed his eyes and latched onto the Prime Minister's hands.

"Yes." He let go reluctantly, moving away to get some space between them. "Yes, thank you. I…I don't know why this affected me so much." A lie. They both knew it but Gregory was polite enough not to press for a confession.

"Are you ready to discuss this now? Level-headedly?" The Prime minister asked with a small smile and, after a resolute nod, followed Mycroft to a set of chairs by the window. He gave Mycroft a moment to collect his scattering thoughts and get into a business mood.

"That was not an assassination attempt." Mycroft started.

"Right."

"This was a statement."

"Right." Gregory nodded. He knew that already. Nobody wanted to kill the head of a country. That was unnecessary. Enemies didn't need to see the Prime Minister's funeral, what they did want to see was him coping with a major crisis in his country though. And for that he certainly had to be alive.

Especially since the sniper missed his target. Security was tight, someone who could get a sniper through it was sure to hire the best man for the job. Thus there would not have been any missed shots unless the person who hired him wanted it.

"We can get you any time we want." Gregory dared to voice what was running through their minds. "Those guys are pretty skilled, huh?"

"And if they can get to the Prime Minister anyone else in this country wouldn't be a problem."

"Except for the Queen surely? And you?"

"We are not going to discuss these issues right now."

Gregory nodded. "They must have had a man on the inside."

"That is most likely." Mycroft conceded.

"I sure as hell would like to finish my drink now." Gregory announced, standing up and heading for the discarded glass. "Tell me honestly, how bad is this?"

"We've dealt with the situation. Nobody knows what had happened to you. It's under control." There was confidence in his words, but as he continued to speak it wavered off. "Concerning the sniper…He escaped. I have my people looking for him. And I have my best man trying to unravel this whole plot."

Gregory chuckled and Mycroft craned his neck to look at him. Half hidden in the shadows with a glass in his hand, Gregory was looking right back at him with a fond smile on his tired but still handsome face. "I almost forgot the way you speak."

Mycroft rolled his eyes but couldn't keep in a pleased smile that threatened to break out. "I speak like any normal person." He said just to contradict.

Gregory laughed and reclaimed his place in the armchair, putting two glasses on the table between them. He slid one over the polished surface and rose his own in a silent salute when Mycroft took it.

They drank in silence, enjoying the comfort of each other's company. Almost an hour passed by like that and Mycroft hadn't felt this content in a while. Ever since their fight to be precise. He sighed deeply, resigning himself to the idea that it was stupid to run away from this for any longer. If the cold fear that spread through him the moment he heard about an assassination attempt wasn't proof enough of how attached he had become to the Prime minister, then this slow burning happiness of being near the man surely was.

"Gregory," he called out into the silence, looking straight ahead into the half-darkness of the office, too nervous to meet the other man's eyes. "If you are still interested in…in…" He stumbled over the words, not sure how to proceed.

Gregory helped out with a smile. "In you?"

Mycroft spared him a glance – a half-hearted glare. "Exactly. In…me. If you are still interested I wouldn't be averse to…to a…"

"Date?"

"Yes," Mycroft nodded, finally meeting the Prime Minister's laughing eyes. "Date."

Gregory's smile widened, the previous weariness of his features replaced by easy happiness, as he replied. "I would love to go on a date with you, Mycroft Holmes."

%MCEPASTEBIN%


End file.
